


the law of complementary colors

by alovelylight



Category: Black Sails
Genre: James has a romantic crisis, Multi, No Plot/Plotless, Pre-Canon, Thomas and Miranda tries to be subtle and failed, this is literally a convo about love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 10:24:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alovelylight/pseuds/alovelylight
Summary: “Only cynics place limits on their dreams, James,” Thomas chimed in, reaching across to squeeze his hand. He repressed a shiver. “And cynics have lost all trace of beauty and vitality.”





	the law of complementary colors

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to practice writing dialogue, and this seems the perfect opportunity.

“And what do you think of love, Lieutenant?” Lady Hamilton, eyes a reflection of warm amusement, fixated upon him from across the dinner table. Her sudden inclusion surprised him; but then again, everything she did surprised him at least a little.

“I think that is a rather large subject to breach, ma’am,” he chuckled, bringing his cup to his lips.

“And all the more fascinating for it,” she smiled.

“That may be, but I confess I have not discussed it in detail. Such emotion is best felt.”

“Ah, there may be a romantic beneath the conventional steel, after all,” James’ eyes flitted to Thomas, who was looking at him with mirth. He felt warmth spreading its hands all over his chest.

“I am not an automaton bereft of feelings, thank you very much.”

“So which lucky ladies have been recipients of such feelings?” asked Lady Hamilton, playfully propping her chin on her palm.

“There’s not much to tell you, I’m afraid.” At the couple’s disbelieving look, he elaborated, “I stick to my books and leave romantic sentiments to the poets.”

“Now you sound like my husband in his youth,” said Lady Hamilton; Thomas pretended to look affronted. “You can never catch him without a book. Only when he wooed me over a stimulating conversation on the merits of Milton’s _Paradise Lost_ did we begin our courtship.”

“That is blatantly untrue,” objected Thomas, “she started it with an invitation to dance at one of the high society balls. It was unorthodox for a woman to ask, especially of the unmarried variety. But she has caught my eye ever since.”

“It is _precisely_ because of my lack of propriety that you adore me,” his wife smirked. She glanced at James. “Really, though, a remarkable man such as yourself having no affections for anyone except for books? Granted, they _are_ the tenets of civilization, but what a loss.”

“Don’t condemn poor James for this, Miranda,” Thomas chuckled. “But yes, what a loss. According to what I’ve heard around town, I mean. There is no shortage of social-climbers with daughters to marry off.”

“And as such, love cannot be found in London,” said James.

“I would hesitate before such skepticism, Lieutenant,” Lady Hamilton’s smile was enigmatic, gently teasing, painting his mind blank. “Love finds us in the most inopportune moments. Although we are fortunate in that regard,” she turned to Thomas, “to have complementary colors and as such, a complementary marriage.”

“I drink to that,” Thomas raised his glass. “But as you must’ve noticed, James, my wife attracts admirers wherever she goes.”

“I have,” he averted his eyes. “I, however, have not had the fortune of meeting someone complementary to my colors.”

“And what colors might those be?” Thomas’ eyes, so earnest, searched his face. James felt as if he was put to some kind of test, by both Hamiltons.

“Ah, well,” he shifted in his chair, felt the uncomfortable heat of the room sink into his skin, “I suppose they must be learned, well-versed in politics and literature, be a bright and engaging conversationalist, come from a respectable household...”

Lady Hamilton tutted. “Such practical qualifications! And what of the heart?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The _heart_ , Lieutenant, the poetry of affection and desire,” she turned to Thomas. “Darling, he is hopeless.”

“Miranda is used to a certain kind of whirlwind romance,” Thomas remarked, “and as for myself, well, I believe that love is free to be consumed regardless of class and prejudice.”

“A whimsical idea, I’m afraid, but nothing more.” The wine was working its ways, and he was aware that his tongue was loosening—but didn’t care enough to stop it. “If that were true, I wouldn’t limit the contents of my heart so.”

“Then don’t,” Lady Hamilton’s voice wrapped around him like silk. “Yours is a powerful one.”

“Only cynics place limits on their dreams, James,” Thomas chimed in, reaching across to squeeze his hand. He repressed a shiver. “And cynics have lost all trace of beauty and vitality.”

As he left the Hamiltons’ residency that night, his mind was tamed by drink but ignited with curiosity. They were unlike anyone he had met before in high society—Thomas in his polished idealism, formed from the stuff of hope itself; Miranda in her lovely light, glimmering in the shine of beauty.

He thought about it the whole carriage ride home.  



End file.
